


More Precious than Rubies

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-19
Updated: 2008-02-19
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Paul comes home after a five days in Atlanta





	More Precious than Rubies

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Alternative universe, total fantasy (or is it?)

 

Spoilers through end of series; possible spoilers for \"Holding Hands on the Way Down\"

 

Author's note: In the past, I have used the New American Bible for my scriptural quotes, as that is the one that CJ and Danny, as Catholics, would have used. In this chapter, I am assuming that Paul would use King James.

 

[ Tin Can Stove ](http://guidezone.e-guiding.com/jbvagst.htm)

 

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul.

 

 

Feedback and criticism always welcomed.  


* * *

_11:30 AM PDT, June 24, 2016; Kensington, CA_

CJ smiled in anticipation as she heard the sound of the garage door opening. She had been anticipating the next few moments ever since she awoke this morning and saw the text message from her husband. He was aboard the plane that would take him from Atlanta to San Francisco and should be home before noon. She had been anticipating the next few moments ever since Paul had called from the baggage claim and she confirmed that Paddy was at day camp until 3:30 and that the girls could stay at the daycare until 5:30. To be honest, CJ had been anticipating this moment ever since Sunday morning, when Paul had flown to Atlanta and the symposium on religion and bioethics. It was the longest they had been apart since they had married almost three years ago.

The door from the garage opened and Paul came into the kitchen. He carried the clerical shirt and collar he had removed as soon as he got into his car at SFO. The white cotton polo shirt was just tight enough to emphasize the hours spent in the gym on campus.

CJ walked into Paul’s arms. They kissed briefly, then held each other closely, each grateful to be together again. As CJ buried her face into Paul’s neck, she drank in the closeness of his arms around her, the comfort of his height above her, and the smells of his cologne, his deodorant, and his perspiration. Everything combined to give her a profound sense of security, of rightness, of grounding.

Paul’s lips kissed her ear, her cheek, and then her mouth. His kiss deepened into her mouth as his arms grasped her tighter. His right hand scooped up her skirt and slipped down to her fanny. His fingers reached down the back of her panties and pushed them down her legs; his hand reached between her legs and his fingers managed to tease against her core. She fleetingly realized that she should have slipped off her underwear when came back from dropping off the girls, or at least when she got the call from the airport. Her husband did like it when he had uninhibited access to her. She pulled his shirt out of his slacks and clutched at his warm back.

CJ broke away from Paul’s mouth and said “bedroom” in his ear. Paul’s response was to recapture her mouth, move her backwards, lift her to the counter, and slip off the undergarment.

CJ draped her arms around Paul’s neck as he kissed her neck while loosening his belt and lowering the zipper on his slacks.

CJ gasped as he played with her and gasped again as he buried himself in her warmth. Paul’s fingers, splayed on her hips, pulled her toward him as his length and thickness filled her; his thumbs teased against her throbbing flesh.

But Paul’s need was too great and he exploded inside her too soon.

“It’s okay,” CJ told her husband as he found the voice to make his apologies. “We’ve still got two hours.”

Forty-five minutes later, Paul was in much more control of himself as he moved over his wife’s body. He sank in slowly and put a hand to either side of CJ’s head. Buried to the hilt, not moving, he kissed her forehead, then raised his face and smiled at her.

“Do your exercises, sweetheart.”

Two months ago, when he had noticed that his wife was no longer going without her underwear, he assumed that it was because Paddy was growing older and that she no longer felt comfortable without the garment. A week later, CJ mentioned that she needed to leave the kids in day care until he could get to them; she had a late afternoon appointment with her doctor. When he expressed some concern, she shyly told him that she had started “leaking” when she coughed, laughed, or sneezed. She was even worried that sometime, she might leak when he was, well, “down there”.

He kissed CJ and told her that it wouldn’t be the world’s worst tragedy. After the visit, when she told him that Mariska wanted her to “try the exercises for a couple of months before we go to the drugs”, he immediately saw the beneficial possibilities. Very often, he would remain still when first joining with her, giving her something to grip against until the tightening and relaxing of her muscles shredded his control.

This afternoon, most likely because his initial hunger had been assuaged, Paul was in still in control of himself but could see that CJ needed more.

He kissed her eyes, then stared into them. Supporting himself on his left arm, he stroked her jaw with his right hand.

“She is more precious than rubies: and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her.”

CJ smiled and Paul smiled back at her. She had adjusted to hearing him quote scripture during intimacy. 

The first time he had done so, during their honeymoon (“Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies.”), he saw the shock on her face.

Later, they had talked about it. (“If it bothers you, sweetheart, I’ll try to stop.”)

CJ told him that, on reflection, it seemed “kind of neat”. She told him about the Valentine’s Day Mass when Danny read the last lines of Proverbs, his eyes never leaving her face. (Paul made a note to himself to avoid that particular passage.) She told him about her initial sudden understanding of what it meant to be man and woman after her first time with Danny, and then her growing acceptance of “deference” after talking with President and Mrs. Bartlet, but told him that “quoting chapter and verse” during sex was a technique unknown to her until now.

“Well, you Catholics are notorious for not reading the Bible,” Paul joked, “except for your celibate priests, so I’m not surprised.”

Paul tried very hard and did manage to hide the slight twinge of hurt when CJ talked about finally understanding Genesis and Ephesians. After all, he told himself, he and she were both so very young during those magical years in the 1980’s. Also, he rationalized, he had been her first serious relationship. He couldn’t expect her to appreciate a good man until she had had some exposure to a bastard or two.

So now, almost three years later, Paul knew that being in a man of God’s bed was something CJ valued; she knew that very few women of her faith tradition had the experience.

” _Unless you’re married to a one-time seminarian turned total nerd,” Abbey told Brianna. “But that thing with Proverbs was a good touch, Danny. Danny? Where did Danny and Alicia go?”_

_Brianna told Abbey about the Swirling Dance and also told her that lately, “whenever Paul and CJ, ah, um, Danny and Alicia get ideas”._

_Abbey’s eyes lit up; something to anticipate enjoying when Jed joined her up here._

CJ made some anxious movements, indicating that she wanted to peak now, but Paul decided that they needed something else. CJ whimpered in protest as he withdrew from her; she whimpered more joyously when he shifted down, put his shoulders under her legs and rose on his arms, lifting her limbs up in the air and tilting her pelvis to give him as much depth as possible.

“Every inch of you; I want every inch of you,” CJ panted as Paul ground himself against her in order to give her what she needed for climax.

Paul knew what he was doing. CJ shrieked in release and, feeling his own need taking control over his body, he lowered himself so her legs could slip off and circle his waist instead of his neck. The penetration was less deep, but he was also in less danger of hurting her when he gave in to his passion.

Afterward, Paul held her close; as he looked back on the afternoon, picturing the two of them in the kitchen, he was amazed at himself. There he was, a middle-aged man, unable to do more than expose her genitalia to his before connecting with her. There he was, a middle-aged man, unable to wait the few seconds it would take to walk from the kitchen to the bedroom that he had put much thought and much expense in furnishing their bedroom with things designed to enhance their sexual pleasure.

He wondered what Hank thought when, while the designer was making CJ's wedding suit, Paul asked Hank to take certain measurements of his wife-to-be's body.

The bed was wide and long, expertly made to be silent no matter how intense the activity, the mattress covered with lush padding to cushion and protect their bodies over a firmness that would keep whoever was on the bottom in flush contact with whoever was on top. Tucked under the bed skirt was a padded bench that would put CJ at just the right height for him when she knelt over the side of the bed, raising her hips at the perfect angle.

The backless bench at the foot of the bed was just the right width for him to sit astride and have her sit on him, either facing him or with her back to him, without cramping their legs.

The back of the oversized easy chair was also made to her measurements, allowing her to stand behind it and bend over without straining. The extra wide seat left room for her to kneel on either side of him, allowing his mouth perfect access to the center of her sensuality. And with the use of an extra seat cushion and another properly fashioned kneeling bench, she could sit, draping her thighs over the arm rests while he joined with her.

Apparently, he loved his wife enough to act like a randy youngster stealing an opportune moment.

Later, as they showered together, he drew her back against his torso and kissed where her neck met her shoulder.

“If anyone had told me, three years ago, that I would be this horny, I would have asked them what they were taking, or smoking,” Paul told her. “I don’t know about you, but I hope it’s a long time before we have to go through this again. Five days without you is at least three days too many.” How in the world did Danny manage for two weeks several times a year? He thought to himself.

“ _With gritted teeth, Angus’ whiskey, and cold showers. But she was well worth it.”_

Then Paul noticed that CJ stiffened slightly in his arms and moved her head so that her neck was no longer against his lips.

“Ah, about that,” she said hesitantly.

“Sweetheart?” He turned her around, not quite sure what she was trying to tell him _(“Surely not_ _ **that**_ _!” Alicia said, her eyes becoming concerned.)_ , and raised her head so her eyes met his.

“Wednesday night, it was so bad, every time I moved, I wanted you so much, it literally hurt; anyway, I was in here and - ”. He followed her eyes to the hand-held shower massage unit with its seven different pulsating speeds.

Paul’s first thought was ego-satisfying pride that his wife was so used to being fulfilled that after three days without him, she needed to take matters into his own hands.

His second thoughts contained the beginnings of self-doubt. Were there other times, times when he was here, that, whether or not she acted on it, she felt need, that he had not been enough? Thinking back over the past year, they had begun to have some days, never more than three or four a month, when they did not engage in intimacy. He hadn’t thought much of it, especially because there were many more days each month when they reached for each other morning as well as night (and sometimes in the afternoon when their schedules and those of the children all meshed together).

But there were also some occasions when he did not immediately become rampant at her advances. Of course, once she took him in hand (or mouth), everything was all systems go at full throttle. Every time (except those when she wanted to “take care of him”) ended with him burying his hardness into her softness and releasing the way God intended. He hadn’t had any thought of being less than what she needed – until now.

“Do you mind?”

Her question brought him back to the situation at hand.

“Of course not,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m flattered, actually.

“But, CJ, have there been other times, times when we’re together, when you’ve gone without, or not approached me?”

“No!” she clasped his waist and held his groin against hers. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Well, sweetheart, I am closer to sixty than fifty. And men lose their vigor earlier than women do. If it is an issue, please tell me, so I can see about getting a prescription - ”

CJ lifted her fingers to his lips.

“Someday, we may need pills, but not today, not now. Obviously,” she giggled as she moved her stomach against the solid evidence between them. “We only have a few minutes.” CJ kissed him, then broke away. She lowered herself to her knees on the shower floor and bent over the bench.

Paul knelt behind her and grasped her hips.

With one hand able to reach her pulsating need, a few minutes were all they needed.

They were relathered, rerinsed, dried, and dressed in plenty of time for Paul to get in the van to pick up Caitlin and Dansha from daycare, in plenty of time for CJ to meet Paddy at the corner bus stop, complete with his latest day camp project – a cook stove fashioned from a tomato juice can, complete with the tightly coiled corrugated cardboard stuffed into a tuna can and soaked in wax. (“Mama, can Derrick and I sleep outside and cook our eggs on it?”)

Paul had been eating restaurant, airline, and hotel food since Sunday afternoon. He was only too happy to grill halibut, zucchini, tomatoes, and mushrooms for supper. (the kids preferred the package of Kraft ® Macaroni and Cheese to the grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, but did eat their zucchini.)

After dinner, they sat outside on the deck, watching the fireflies come out as dusk fell. Caitlin and Dansha glued themselves to their father, one on each side. The little girls had a small argument. Each one wanted the book that Papa had bought for **her** to be the first one read aloud. Paddy tried to be a big boy, but he also told Papa all about his week at day camp (and didn’t let his official Atlanta Braves junior Louisville Slugger out of his sight).

When bedtime came, there was a bit of fuss at first, especially from Paddy, but that disappeared when it was pointed out that the faster they went to sleep, the faster Saturday would come. Saturday meant Grandpa Joe and Derrick would be there. And the faster Saturday came, the faster Sunday, when they would drive up to Albion, would come.

The family would be in Albion for about six weeks. With any luck, Derrick would arrive before noon. Joe’s flight from JFK was due in the early afternoon.

Actually, Derrick had planned to drive up after work today, but when his father mentioned that he would be coming back from five days in Atlanta, the younger man immediately said he would “get up early Saturday rather than disturb you late Friday night”. Tom and Deborah would be taking their delayed honeymoon after June 30, when Tom’s first year in residency was over; they would stop by for about five days at the end of July, after a similar visit to the Jeffersons in Jersey and before heading back to Alaska.

Abbey Bartlet’s memorial at the Josiah E. Bartlet library would be dedicated the second weekend in August. Ginger and Rick were hosting the annual reunion around the event. Chartered tour buses would transport everyone from Newport to Manchester and back again.

After their trip to New England, it would be time to gear up for the new academic year. CJ had her dissertation outlined, but wouldn’t begin work until September. (“I want to enjoy the kids; they’re growing up so fast.”)

Lately, Paddy had decided that he was too old to be read to, so Paul and CJ had told him that he could read in bed as late as he wanted, as long as he stayed in his room after his bedtime, and as long as he was up in time for whatever the next day held – school, church, or other activities – or by 8:30 at the latest.

This night, the children’s circadian clocks were cooperative. Caitlin and Dansha drifted off after fifteen minutes. Paul kissed his daughters, tucked in their covers, and stole from the room. He checked in on Paddy, who was softly snoring over his open book, shut off the light, and tousled the hair that looked so much like his mother’s.

Paul returned to the deck and lay on one of the chaises. Night had conquered dusk, and the fireflies continued to dance in Wildcat Canyon behind the house.

“Here.”

Paul looked up to see CJ holding a glass of Aisling’s cordial toward him. Taking it from her, he smiled, and, putting one leg on the deck pulled her into the resulting vee between his legs.

CJ rested her back against her husband’s chest. Paul kissed the side of her head, then held the cordial glass to her lips. After she drank, he took a sip for himself, bringing his left arm around her under her breasts, noticing that she was braless.

“What do you need from me tomorrow, sweetheart? For the trip?” he spoke softly in her ear.

“Put your things from Atlanta in the wash if you want them in Albion. Pack. Check out the van. The rest of the usual manly stuff.” CJ took the glass from his hand and drank the rest of the liquid. “I missed you, Paul Reeves.”

“And I missed you.” His right hand, no longer holding a glass, found its way under her skirt. The bra was not the only missing undergarment. Paul sighed appreciatively.

Then the sigh turned into a yawn.

“Are you TIRED!, darling? Should we GO! to sleep now? You’ve been up since 2:30 OUR! Time.”

“Well, to bed, at least,” Paul chuckled as his fingers continued to work their magic. Then he moved his hand and gently pushed her to her feet.

“Go,” he ordered. “I’ll be there as soon as I lock up.”

By the time Paul got to the bedroom, CJ had undressed and slipped into a cotton lace gown. As he took her in his arms, she undid his shorts, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and pushed the shorts and boxers down to his knees. CJ lifted her foot and pushed them down to the floor.

Once in bed, she pushed him to his back and climbed over his legs. For the third time in less than ten hours, she would do the heavy lifting.

Afterward, Paul stroked her hair as she lay against his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as she giggled into the mat of hair on his chest.

“Definitely no need for little pills just yet,” she said.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” CJ wondered what her husband was about to ask of her. His voice sounded so hesitant.

“Sometime, if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, will you show me what you did Wednesday with the shower head?”

Her smile in the moonlight was all the answer he needed.

And as they nodded off, Paul recited in his head the words that belonged to Danny Concannon.

“The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.

“She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”


End file.
